Grief, Gratitude and Grace: The Journey Continues

It s that time of year, at least in the United States, where we think a lot about gratitude. There are many, many things in my life of which I am extremely grateful. I was raised in a happy, loving home. Yes, we have our dysfunctions, but who doesn't? My parents still live in my childhood home, going strong well into their 80s. My dad was a hard worker, a high school teacher, and my mom very frugal, by nature and necessity. They saved enough for each of us 4 kids to go to college. I earned my degree and worked hard to have a successful career, paired with good timing and luck of geography, in high tech. I travelled the world, bought my own house and have always had a wonderful supportive core group of friends who are like sisters. I love my extended family and have always had an optimistic joy for life. I met and married my husband Jim when i was in my late 30s. We had a happy marriage and he loved me more than life itself. In 2013 he as diagnosed with cancer and he died nine months later.

There are many, many things in my life of which I am extremely grateful. I never thought grief would be one of them.

The first 6 months after Jim died were a fog. The second 6 months were a nightmare. In this, my second year, the fog is lifting. I am waking. I have determined that grief will not kill me. And, to use on of Jim's favorite quotes, 'what doesn't kill me makes me stronger." I began to rebuild, redefine. I knew I could not go back. My life would never, ever be the same. So, I mused, what would it be? Who would I be?

Anne Lamott, writes about the grace of redefining ourselves and redefining okayness when life throws us its merciless curveballs. She considers how people find the grace of making-it-work: 

They are willing to redefine themselves, and life, and okayness. Redefinition is a nightmare — we think we’ve arrived, in our nice Pottery Barn boxes, and that this or that is true. Then something happens that totally sucks, and we are in a new box, and it is like changing into clothes that don’t fit, that we hate. Yet the essence remains. Essence is malleable, fluid. Everything we lose is Buddhist truth — one more thing that you don’t have to grab with your death grip, and protect from theft or decay. It’s gone. We can mourn it, but we don’t have to get down in the grave with it.

No, we don't have to go into the grave with it. We can decide how to respond, finally. In that first year, I felt like i didn't have a choice. But now I do. I can choose to let my grief make me bitter and angry and lonely. Or I can choose to be joyful, be part of the world around me, be grateful.

Grateful? How could I ever be grateful that Jim is dead? I am not. But he is dead. So rather than focus on the loss, I have chosen to focus on all I have gained.

First - his diagnosis. We found out Jim had cancer just days before his 53 birthday. In those first few weeks, he was close to death and we were just going through the motions. But he recovered his ability to breathe, and we were given sweet, sweet time. Never enough, but time. We lived in a cocoon for much of the next 9 months. Doctor visits, tests, treatments, recovery and cycling back though it again. Yet we also made time to fall in love again. To appreciate each other. To value the moment. The now. We saw glaciers and sunsets, we saw CT scans and x-rays. Family visited and so did home health nurses. Yes, I was grateful for those 9 months. Not everyone gets that. They gave us time to tell the other everything important that need to be said. He never told me how to run the sprinklers, but he told me how much he loved me. He died and nothing important had been left unsaid. And for that, I am grateful.

No one really gets to pick how they die. Yes, you can control some variables, but in the end, nature has its own timetable. Jim lost the ability to breathe on his own and he died two days later. I had time to call his siblings, consult with doctors and my minister. I had time to hold his hand, whisper all my love, dance one last song with him, bathe him and hold him in my arms as he left this world. And for that, I am grateful.

During the fog of those first six months, I was lucky enough to not have to work much I was able to fully 'embrace my grief." I sought therapy, I meditated, I journaled, I did yoga, I walked on beaches, I slept, a lot. I also cleaned out the garage, so I could take care of his car, I learned how to maintain the hot tub, I planted a garden and I learned how to control the sprinklers. I took little trips to leave some of Jim's ashes in places that were special to us. I cried. I cried a lot. I remember asking a colleague, a fellow widow (a term, by the way, I was to yet willing to use), "How long did it take you to stop crying every day?" I was relieved when she said it was at least a year. I would continue crying every day, often many times a day. Dr. Earl A Grollman writes, Grief is not a disorder, a disease or a sign of weakness. It is an emotional, physical and spiritual necessity, the price you pay for love. The only cure for grief is to grieve.  Yes, I still cry. A lot. But I as also putting one foot in front of the other. Showing courage in the face of fear and uncertainty. I gave myself time to explore my grief, to befriend it. To accept my grief as part of the new me, the new normal. And for that, I am grateful.

Last summer, I participated in the Deepak & Oprah 21 day meditation on Gratitude. Although I was still a bit leery as to how I could find gratitude while living with my grief, I played along and low and behold, I did. I learned that in appreciating all of life's gifts, grace does come.

Oprah: When you have the awareness of how perfectly you fit into creation, how abundant your life is from the level of being, grace changes your perception. Gratitude is like a secret key that shifts your awareness.....Grace is the knowledge that we belong, that we are understood, and that we are a meaningful part of something big, deep and powerful... Be present in gratitude and grace automatically responds, taking us beyond the confines of our own familiar experiences. The little things, the little moments, well, they aren’t little, says Jon Kabat-Zinn, and he couldn’t be more correct because when we are present in gratitude, we awaken the bigness of even the smallest things in life. You see things differently, hear things anew, everything matters and that’s what we’re all seeking. Indeed, that is grace. Let’s listen to the signals of grace within and all around us. ...
Deepak says, "We are responsible for our own life story and the responsibility grows when you decide to take charge of your story, not blaming, projecting or depending on someone else. giving away the responsibility gives away your control over the one thing that should and must belong to you alone. By taking control, you also claim rights to the joy and bliss of your story... In grace, the heart sings. Light is infused into every experience. ...Everything you want to achieve already exists in your own being, waiting for the hidden key to be turned. The path isn’t arduous. The practice of gratitude is a spiritual path of the heart. One experience of joy leads to the next. In time, the heart has space for nothing but love and light."

And for this, I am grateful.

I am grateful for learning how to use the sprinklers, for the love of a wonderful husband, that I loved him so much, I grieve for him daily. I am grateful for the understanding, patient, and compassionate support of friends, family and strangers. I am grateful for long walks on the beach, long drives in the S2000 and the soft fur on my dog's ears. I am grateful that I am present in my gratitude. My heart has space for love and light.  And for this, I am grateful.